


The Complete Candy Affair

by paulah_GJ



Series: MFU Holiday Stories [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulah_GJ/pseuds/paulah_GJ
Summary: Illya just doesn't understand what Halloween is all about.





	The Complete Candy Affair

**Author's Note:**

> We know it's late for Halloween, but we wanted to get all our holiday stories posted here. This was originally posted on FF.net.

**On The First Halloween, My Partner Said To Me**

 

Illya’s first Halloween in America was a puzzle to him. It wasn’t as though he’d never heard of the holiday. It was highly discouraged in his country, though. At least, those in control of his life when he was a child discouraged it, so he’d never really read up on it. He’d gotten some vague ideas about it when shopping in the supermarkets, but hadn’t really cared enough to truly explore it.

 

He’d rather not explore it now, either, but he wasn’t being given a choice. Alone in his apartment trying to relax with a scientific journal, beggars at the door constantly annoyed him. Most sported disguises and he peered at them through the peephole before cautiously opening it a crack to shoo them away. He didn’t trust masked people, even short ones. One did not have to be big, or even adult, to wield a gun.

 

“What do you want? Why do you keep coming back over and over again?” Illya asked the fifth ghost he’d seen since the night began.

 

The child replied in a confident voice. “Trick or treat Mister.” He held up an old pillowcase with a few bars of candy in the bottom.

 

Illya reached in and took one. “Thank you.” Then he turned around and closed the door in the confused lad’s face. Illya on the other hand was quite pleased. If he’d known the other little buggers were handing out sweets, he wouldn’t have sent them all away.

 

He had just finished off the candy when another knock sounded. Unlike the other more meek taps, this one was harder and more insistent. A pounding, really. Would THRUSH make itself known in such a raucous manner? Maybe. One never knew with the likes of THRUSH. Holding his Special in his right hand, he opened the door a crack with his left, ready for anything.

 

He peered through the small space and saw a rather large man dressed in a dirty, what might have once been white, tee shirt and equally dirty boxer shorts. He held a familiar pillowcase in one meaty fist, his other fist raised and ready to pound the door down. The man had the hulking presence of a typical THRUSH henchman, but even the lowest one of that breed would have put on pants before coming to grab an UNCLE agent.

 

The maybe maybe-not THRUSH man glared at the crack in the door. “Open this door, you coward!” he snarled.

 

Certainly sounded like a THRUSH goon. Belligerent and angry. Illya had often heard THRUSH minions sounding like that, especially in relation to him. Not so much to Napoleon, though. Sometimes he wondered why. Then they would get into a situation where Napoleon’s silver tongue would make the THRUSH people, goons and bosses alike, want to feed, clothe, and pamper the American, and he then knew exactly why. At the same time, Illya’s own acid tongue would make them want to pommel and torture him. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d always found the satisfaction of undermining their confidence worth the pain.

 

His weapon still out of sight behind the door, Illya opened it a bit more. “Can I help you?”

 

The hulk shook the pillowcase at Illya. “Recognize this?”

 

Illya studied the case for a minute, eyes narrowing. It was the bag the boy who’d given him the candy earlier had carried. It was also . . . “Yes. It looks like the pillowcase someone stole out of my dryer in the laundry room several months ago.” He snatched the bag out of the big man’s grasp and slammed the door in his face.

 

Illya glanced inside the case and found several candy bars still within. The boy must not have given all his candy out before the hulking brute had stolen it from him.   This put him in a bit of a quandary. He should let the boy know he’d retrieved the bag from the thief. On the other hand, he would really like to eat the candy. The boy HAD been giving the candy away, so Illya supposed keeping it was not a problem. And the pillowcase was actually his own. Besides, he had no clue where the boy lived. Quandary solved.

 

He was on his way to the couch so he could see what goodies awaited him inside the pillowcase when the pounding started again. This time the man didn’t stop at just trying to knock a hole in the wall. “Give that back, you sniveling little coward!” he bellowed.

 

Illya tried to avoid bringing undue attention to him whenever possible, especially when home. He opened the door, weapon within reach, but not in his hand this time. He really doubted this was a THRUSH agent. If it were, he wouldn’t be for long with these tactics. Even THRUSH wasn’t this ham-handed.

 

“Look you little pipsqueak!” the man spat, a thick finger shaking in Illya’s face. “That was my kid’s candy you just stole! Just like you stole it earlier!”

 

“Kid? You have a goat?” Illya glanced around as if he thought maybe the man had the goat with him.

 

The hulk blinked. “Goat?”

 

“Yes. You said I stole your goat’s candy.”

 

“I said my kid’s candy!” The man’s already red face turned into an interesting shade of violet.

 

“Yes. A kid. A baby goat.”

 

“Not a goat!” hulk-man choked out. “My kid! My son!”

 

Illya stood to his full height, filled with indignation. “If you are speaking of that ghost who had my pillowcase, I did not steal candy from him. He gave it to me.”

 

Puzzlement joined the purple outrage on the man’s face. “What do you mean he gave it to you?”

 

“He asked me if I wanted a trick or a treat. Since I had no desire to be tricked, I took the treat.”

 

The hulking man’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Finally, the rage, and the red, drained from his features, replaced by disdain. “You have an accent.”

 

“So I do.”

 

“You’re a fur-ner.”

 

“I most certainly am not,” Illya denied. “I have no connection to furs at all.” He wondered if this was one of those people who recently started making noise about people wearing furs.

 

“A fur-ner,” the man repeated slowly, acting as though he thought Illya didn’t speak English. His face started working its way back towards the purple stage.

 

All this up and down blood pressure could not be good for his health. “I am not a furrier,” Illya insisted.

 

“Not a furrier, a fur-ner!” the hulk snapped. “Someone from another country.”

 

“Oh. A foreigner.” Illya found it interesting that he often spoke better English than Americans. “Yes. I am. Does it matter? Are the little ghosts not supposed to give the candy to foreigners?”

 

The man stood sputtering for a minute before reaching for Illya, murder in his eyes. “I’m gonna beat you ‘til you’re black and blue!”

 

“Ah, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said a smooth voice from behind the large body.

 

Illya peered around the hulking mass to see his partner and friend, Napoleon Solo.

 

Napoleon cleared his throat and the hulk turned around to look at him. “Excuse me my good man,” Napoleon said in all his cultured charm. “Is there some problem here?” He looked to Illya for a signal that this was a THRUSHie or not. The blond shook his head at Napoleon.

 

The scruffy brute pointed rudely at Illya. “That little creep there stole my kid’s Halloween candy. That’s what.”

 

Illya looked totally innocent at Napoleon. “I stole nothing. The child gave me a candy bar and then his father came to return my pillowcase. I don’t know what he is talking about.”

 

Napoleon could just imagine the conversation that took place before he arrived. He pulled out his money clip and plucked a ten-dollar bill from it. “I’m sorry if my friend has caused any trouble. He’s not from around here as I’m sure you can tell from his accent. Perhaps this will cheer up your son and get you to forgive this young man here? It is still early. Your son can still go out and do his trick or treating again.”

 

The man eyed the tenner greedily. He reached for the note. “Yeah. He probably could. Kids like that sort of thing.” He tucked the bill into his shirt pocket and gave Illya a sneer before leaving.

 

Illya opened the door wider for Napoleon to enter. As the hulk receded down the hallway Illya called out to him. “I didn’t get my apology.”

 

Napoleon nudged Illya back inside and closed the door behind them. “What are you trying to do? Want him to come back and beat the heck out of you?”

 

Illya snorted and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I could take that lump?” he said indignantly.

 

Napoleon glanced at the lumbering man going down the stairs and cleared his throat. “You have a point. Still, you don’t want the cops coming to your door, do you? That would bring Mr Waverly into it . . .”

 

“Never mind,” Illya conceded. He returned to his pillowcase and tipped the candy onto the table and ripped open another candy bar. He took a large bite. Through it he mumbled, “Would you like one? There seems to be quite a few here.”

 

“Illya. What are you doing stealing children’s candy on Halloween?” Napoleon asked flicking a finger through the booty, feeling pity for the child. “You’re supposed to give candy out. Not take it.”

 

Illya looked at his partner with a blank expression. Then Napoleon put an arm over the blond’s shoulders and sat him down on the lumpy secondhand sofa in the dingy living room of the little apartment. He spent the rest of the night explaining the holiday to Illya while the Russian chomped down the candy. For his part, Illya decided American Halloween traditions were strange.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

 

**One Year Later**

 

Illya Kuryakin turned his nose up at the irritating decorations hung by the office clerks throughout UNCLE Headquarters. He’d torn down the ones in his lab and the sneer he gave the one responsible was enough that they didn’t dare try putting up anything more offensive than a calendar. UNCLE issue of course. It wasn’t even near enough to the periodic table chart to cause a distraction.

 

On the other hand, Napoleon Solo seemed to be using the whole thing to his advantage by dropping Halloween kisses here and there among the secretaries like lures for fish. The usual return was a beautiful lady leaning across a desk to offer a kiss back, which the man took full advantage of. A number of party invitations were offered Napoleon as well. He made no promises but looked forward to a full dance card that night.

 

As the luncheon hour approached, Illya headed back to his office in the back of the lab to wait for Napoleon. The two of them usually dined together at noon when the man wasn’t otherwise engaged with a lady. Today must have been one of those days since 12:30 came and went with no sign of the CEA. It didn’t make much difference to Illya. He pulled a peanut butter sandwich out of his desk drawer and ate while reading his latest journal.

 

“Hi Illya,” Slate said poking his head into Illya’s office. “Are you all set for Halloween tonight? Got the goodies for the kids?”

 

Illya scowled. “I don’t know why anyone would want to spend good money in order to give out tooth-rotting confections to children dressed up like Baba Yaga is beyond me.”

 

Mark blinked and entered the office fully. “Erm, excuse me, mate?”

 

Illya sighed and turned away from his journal. “I said . . .”

 

“I heard what you said. I just couldn’t believe it.”

 

Illya’s eyebrow crept into his hairline.

 

Mark grinned. “All right. I guess I do believe it. But, gov, Halloween is fun!”

 

“Don’t tell me you practice this holiday?” Illya scoffed.

 

“Well, sure. Do you know how the holiday originated?”

 

Illya assumed the British agent didn’t want a lecture on Pagan beliefs. “Napoleon says it’s when children dress up to scare adults into giving them candy,” he said with caution, intently watching Mark’s face to see if his summary was correct.

 

“Well, yes, that’s true. But it actually comes from a Celtic Pagan holiday, Samhain.” He pronounced it “saw-ween.” “It’s supposed to be the time when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. The idea is that spirits and demons walked the earth that night and the Celts would give them treats like nuts and berries in order to make them go away. Those who didn’t give anything to them could look forward to many terrible things happening overnight.”

Mark’s gray-blue eyes took on a faraway look. He leaned casually against the frame of the door and continued his tale. “I remember when I was a tyke. We use to go around asking for treats.” He snickered. “We rather hoped people wouldn’t give it to us because then we would do a trick on them.” He laughed as he recalled one fond memory in particular. “I remember one time, an old man we all thought was the devil himself chased us away from his door. We moved his outhouse several feet back from its original spot, then sat back to wait. A little while later, he came out to use the loo and he fell into the original hole. We thought it was hysterical. Made the night out.”

 

Illya looked on him with horror. “That sounds rather juvenile,” he muttered.

 

Mark shrugged. “We were juveniles.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows in warning to Illya. “At any rate, mate, I suggest you get something to give the kiddies, or you might just find yourself on the receiving end of a nasty joke.” He gave the Russian a jaunty wave before turning to leave. “See you later.”

 

Illya watched Mark’s back retreat out the door. He was rather glad he didn’t have an outhouse or the children last year might have moved it and HE would have fallen into his own wastes. That would have been awkward. Not to mention embarrassing if Napoleon had happened upon him at that moment. Maybe he should get SOMETHING to give to the little _nedonosok_ that would darken his door this evening. He cleared his desk, and then went to check in with Napoleon to make sure there was nothing pressing here for the afternoon. If not, he would leave early and go to the store.

 

**# #**

**O**

After a filling luncheon with the secretary du jour, Napoleon reclined in his leather chair, feet crossed and resting on the corner of his desk. He was lightly skimming some reports on THRUSH activities in Europe over the past two months when a blond head stuck its way through his doorway. The always dapperly dressed Napoleon grinned and invited Illya in.

 

“Hi. Sorry about lunch. I was engaged at the time,” he apologized although he knew there was really no need. They often ate lunch together but there was no requirement they do so.

 

Illya shrugged. He didn’t really care one way or the other. “I just stopped in to see if we were scheduled for anything important this afternoon.”

 

Napoleon brought his feet to the floor and sat up spreading his arms over the desk. “Not unless you consider this stuff important.”

 

The situation updates were something Illya had seen often and with all the mission reports he’d written for the two of them he was more than happy to let Napoleon deal with the CEA things. “You are right. I have some shopping to do then,” he said.

 

“Shopping?” Napoleon replied a little surprised for the bare necessities only Russian. “Isn’t it a little early for going to get groceries?”

 

“I have to get ready for Halloween. You keep reminding me it is tonight.” Illya gave his partner a shrug. “I have neglected doing anything yet.”

 

Napoleon sighed and his shoulders slumped. “You might as well go then. If THRUSH barges in dressed as The Great Pumpkin I’ll just take care of it myself.”

 

Illya furrowed his brow. “Who is this great pumpkin?”

 

“He’s sort of like Santa Claus for Halloween,” he said beginning to explain but the expression on Illya’s face told him it wasn’t making much sense to the unimaginative Socialist. Napoleon waved Illya to go. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand anyway. I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting the kid’s candy.”

 

Illya nodded and turned to go. He would have to research this Great Pumpkin undercover agent. One thing he couldn’t afford was to be lax about who the known THRUSH agents were.

 

**# #**

**O**

Illya knew he would have to be cautious tonight. At any moment a THRUSH agent might try to catch him unaware. He sat at the small table polishing the new weapon he’d purchased this afternoon. There was a bowl of fresh ammo sitting on the table next to the box the gun came in. The instructions were simple enough for a child to understand and with one shifting eyebrow he watched the clock tick, counting the hours until the onslaught of battle began. Illya was ready when the first knock came. No small hoodlums would be playing tricks on him tonight.

 

Illya placed the weapon on a small table beside the door and picked up the bag of treats he’d bought. Not one to ignore training, he opened the door just a crack to make sure no THRUSH thugs awaited him. Two small children, one boy and one girl, stood in front of it, faces beaming with wide smiles and hands full with paper sacks at the ready to receive goodies. No THRUSH goons this time. He was almost disappointed. He understood THRUSH better than little people. Illya took a deep breath, steeling himself to deal with a foe worse than a THRUSH mad scientist and opened the door wider.

 

“Trick or treat!” the children yelled in unison.

 

Illya’s brows knitted as he regarded the munchkins darkening his door. “Hansel and Gretel?” Illya thought they were supposed to be dressed as something more sinister, such as a ghost or a vampire. Hansel and Gretel were hardly sinister. Well, on second thought, they were children running around without adult supervision. That was rather sinister, at that.

 

“Hey!” the little girl exclaimed. “You got it right!”

 

It didn’t take Illya’s PhD in quantum mechanics to have figured it out, but he refrained from telling the children. “I read up on the American tradition of trick or treating and I believe you want me to give you a treat. Is this correct?”

 

The children glanced questioningly at each other, and then looked back at Illya. “Uh, I think so,” the boy answered for both of them.

 

“I thought so. Here you are.” He took two pieces from his bag and dropped them into the paper sacks. By the sounds of it, the boy’s sack threatened to break open at the addition.

 

The kids stared down at his offering. “A potato?” the little girl squeaked.

 

“When I was a child, I felt very lucky if someone gave me a potato,” Illya lectured.   He didn’t make it up as so many adults do to make children feel guilty for complaining about not having things. It was the truth. Of course, he’d been starving at the time.

 

The children gave him a dubious smile, murmured thank you, and headed for the next apartment. Illya closed the door. That didn’t go so badly. He even liked it a little. The children were rather cute in their costumes and very polite and well mannered. If they were all like that, it would be a more pleasant evening than he’d anticipated. He would be a little disappointed about not having a chance to use his new gun, but he could try it out on Napoleon tomorrow if it came to that.

 

Another knock sounded. Illya cracked the door once again, saw a child—this one wore a devil outfit—and opened it enough to reach out and drop a potato into the bucket he carried and closed it again. A thud sounded on his door, followed by other strange noises.

 

Illya waited for the sounds to cease and the devil’s feet to retreat before letting his curiosity get the best of him. He opened up and peered into the hall. The potato lay smashed and pulpy on the carpet in the hallway. Illya scowled. The landlady had better not blame him for that. He didn’t do it, after all. Still, he supposed he ought to clean it up. He wouldn’t want to slip on it when he left for work in the morning.

 

He retrieved his broom and dustbin and stepped into the hall to take care of the mess. While he swept up the debris, he glanced at his neighbor’s apartment. Beside the door were two potatoes. He scowled. Hansel and Gretel apparently didn’t care for the treats he’d given them. Oh, well. More for him. He loved potatoes.

 

He dumped the stomped on potato into the dustbin, stealthily snatched the two potatoes away from his neighbor’s door, and went back inside.

 

While he waited for the next beggar, he opened another of the bags he’d bought today and pulled out a miniature chocolate bar. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweetly bitter taste. He deserved a little snack after cleaning up after someone else’s child. Matter of fact, he deserved a few more snacks. He chain ate the chocolate bars and read, tensed for the next knock. After half an hour went by with no comers, he started to relax. Maybe that was all there would be for tonight. He hoped so, anyway.

 

“No such luck,” he muttered when yet another knock came a minute later. He snatched up a potato. If this spoiled, decadent American youth complained about the potato, Illya would shoot the little darling. He flung opened the door to a boy of about eleven decked out in prison stripes, a plastic ball and chain attached to his ankle. He held out a pillowcase defiantly. “Trick or treat, Mister. And my dad said you’d better keep your hands out of my bag this year or he’s gonna beat you to a pulp.”

 

Illya raised an eyebrow. He recognized the boy whose father was the hulking man who’d threatened to do the same thing last year. At least this year the boy’s pillowcase wasn’t Illya’s. “No, I have something for you this time,” the Russian said.

 

The kid smiled in triumph. “Give me the treat before I give you a trick, then.”

 

A huge, brown, dirty potato tumbled into the boy’s cloth bag. The boy stared into the depths of his pillowcase. “What in the heck did you give me?” He reached in and pulled out the brown lump. It must have been an older tuber because tendrils of new roots sprouted from its surface. “Eww!” he sputtered. “I’m going to tell my daddy!” He hurled the potato at Illya’s face.

 

Illya reacted quickly, dodging the projectile with ease as he reached for his new gun. He pointed it at the child. The boy convict’s eyes widened in horror and he turned to flee. Illya pulled the trigger sending a stream of foul smelling liquid into the back of the child’s head. The ammo was something he’d put together in his lab today. It was harmless, merely causing distress to the olfactory senses. The boy swiped at his wet hair and flung curses at Illya as he clattered down the stairs. Such language. Probably learned it from that hulking father of his.

 

 

**# #**

**O**

On the other side of town Napoleon Solo enjoyed himself at a Halloween party. Drink in hand; he wandered around the room dressed as a bumblebee, courtesy of the costumer who provided the outfit at a last minute request. It suited him as he mingled interacting with several young ladies dressed as various flowers. Fate served him well and he managed to disappear with one for an interlude in the closet.

 

Even though the party was in full swing, Napoleon couldn’t help but worry about his partner. Illya didn’t say what his urgent business was this afternoon. It bothered him that he had no idea what Illya was up to since he’d declined the invitation to the party. Considering last year’s Halloween near fiasco, he felt apprehensive about what kind of trouble his partner might be stirring up for the hapless little ghosts and goblins showing up at his door tonight. After trying and trying to forget about the dour Russian and his innocent victims, Napoleon had to admit to himself that checking up on Illya was the only thing he could do. It seemed a good idea to go get Illya and, in spite of any objections the Russian might have, drag him, if necessary, to the party.

 

Napoleon slipped out of the foyer and went to the valet with his check. The man dashed off to retrieve the car and the CEA was on his way back to the rundown section of town Illya favored to reside in. He thought of calling first but if warned, Illya might make it look like he wasn’t home. No. A surprise assault was the best way to catch him. He’d make the man enjoy Halloween whether he wanted to or not. It was still early enough for them to have a great time at the party.

 

**# #**

**O**

A beefy man in an old bathrobe and flimsy slippers stomped up the stairs for the second year in a row. Ahead of him he pushed a smelly little boy gagging at his own odiferous scent and struggling to take off the rest of his costume.

 

“I’m gonna give that creep a piece of my mind,” Silas Morton promised the child and then let go of the boy to wipe his now smelly hand on the stained t-shirt he wore under the open bathrobe.

 

He banged on the door, trying to keep his rage under control enough so he wouldn’t kill the little pipsqueak. Little foreign twerp. After asking around, he’d found out the man in 4C was from the Soviet Union. He wasn’t willing to risk the electric chair for killing no stinking commie. Maiming him was another matter. For that he might do a couple days in jail, at most. Hell, the guy was probably a Russian spy. Silas would break the commie’s nose and possibly get a medal for bringing down an enemy spy. He pounded on the door with renewed enthusiasm.

 

The door opened a crack and a blue eye peered out. “Yes?”

 

Silas pulled his son in front of him. “Remember this kid?” he snarled.

 

The blue eye flickered to the boy then returned to Silas’ face. “I remember the smell. You should teach your children the merits of bathing daily.”

 

Silas could actually feel his veins constrict and raise his blood pressure. “You’re the one who made him smell this way!”

 

“Ah, yes,” the blue eye admitted. “So I did.”

 

“Before I beat you to a pulp, I’d like to know why you did it!”

 

“He said trick or treat. I gave him a treat, but he didn’t want it.”

 

“It was a stinkin’ potato! It got dirt all over my candy!” the boy protested.

 

The eye focused on the child. “Be that as it may, it was the treat I gave you.” The gaze returned to Silas. “He refused the treat, so I assumed the traditional greeting of ‘trick or treat’ meant if a child didn’t get one, he expected the other. He didn’t want my treat, so I gave him a trick.”

 

Silas thought his head might explode as his rage made his blood pressure go through the roof. He almost expected the top of his head to pop off and his brains to spew out like some volcano. “Why you little pinko commie! Come out here and fight like a man!” He reached for the door. He’d drag the pipsqueak out if he had to.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

 

Napoleon paused on the stairwell one flight below Illya’s apartment when he first heard the ruckus. He tilted his head. Uh-oh! The pinko commie to whom the man referred had to be Illya.

 

Rushing up the stairs two at a time, Napoleon rushed over to Illya’s door and intercepted the fight that was about to break out. He put his hand on the raging hulk’s shoulder, a feat of pure courage in any man’s eyes, and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me handle this sir.”

 

Silas was so stunned by the sight of the huge bee in an overcoat he momentarily forgot the nasty little creep in 4C. “Who the hell are you… and aren’t you a little old for trick or treat?” he snapped back.

 

Napoleon’s eyes watered over the stench of the man, a combination of Rye, stale laundry, body odor, and something that reminded him of eau de skunk. Quickly he pulled out his ID and showed him his UNCLE credentials. “I work for a law enforcement agency and I’m on a sting mission seeking information on illegal immigrants. I have to question this man,” he explained pushing past him and the smelly boy.

 

Illya backed up enough to let Napoleon in all the while staring at his startling appearance. As the door closed he asked a question while wearing a completely innocent expression. “Napoleon. Why are you dressed like a giant bumblebee?”

 

The CEA shook his head and corrected his partner. “I’m a honeybee. Not a bumblebee.”

 

Illya frowned and pointed at some of the costume. “No. According to the pattern of these stripes and the coloring you are in fact a bumblebee. There is quite a marked difference.”

 

As usual Illya was diverting Napoleon’s train of thought. “Just forget the costume Illya. I came here to take you out to have some fun tonight and I find you about to get your face smashed in by the incredible smelling hulk again.” He made a face and shook his head. “Whooh! What was that smell anyway?”

 

Illya turned around and went to the sofa to pour himself a shot of vodka. “Actually it was a relatively simple combination of chemicals. I mixed it up myself.”

 

Napoleon followed him and sat down. “Why on earth would you aggravate a man like that? Isn’t that the same guy I had to pay to rescue you last year?”

 

“I didn’t need rescuing last year. I was handling the situation,” Illya protested.

 

“Yes. I saw you handling it and believe me Illya, I rescued you.”

 

Illya made a face choosing not to argue the point further. “So why are you here, dressed like a bee, to bother me tonight?”

 

“It’s a good thing I am here to bother you if that’s what’s going on around here,” he replied. “Just what are you doing to upset everyone this Halloween?”

 

The Russian glanced down Napoleon’s costume. “Have a seat if you can sit down without putting a hole in the cushion.”

 

Napoleon bent the stinger on the tail end up and sat. “Its just fabric now stop avoiding the question.”

 

Illya sipped his vodka. Napoleon noticed his friend and partner had not offered him, the guest, any refreshment, liquid or otherwise. “Well?” he finally asked when Illya seemed like he would never answer.

 

Illya sighed and reached into a bowl on the coffee table. He pulled out a chocolate, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. “If you must know, I gave the child a treat but he was ungrateful, so I then gave him a trick. Is that not how it works?”

 

Napoleon stared at him. “Not usually.”

 

“They call the ritual the children do at Halloween ‘Trick or Treat’ do they not?”

 

“Well, yes, but . . . ”

 

“Then that means one has the choice of giving the child a trick or a treat. I gave him a treat, which he rejected, so then I gave him a trick. From what I understood from a conversation with Mark today, tricks are often a part of the ritual.”

 

“No. Well, ah, yes, sometimes it does happen, but usually the children knock on a door, you give them candy, they say thank you, and then they go to the next door.”

 

“Candy?” Illya asked, visibly startled.

 

Napoleon eyed him suspiciously. “Of course. What did you give them if you didn’t give them candy?”

 

“Potatoes.”

 

Napoleon blinked. He HAD to have heard that wrong. “Potatoes?”

 

Illya nodded as he popped another chocolate.

 

The only sound that could be heard for a moment was Illya unwrapping yet another candy. Napoleon couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of handing out potatoes for Halloween. “Cooked?”

 

Illya glowered at him. “I’m not stupid, Napoleon.” He turned and snatched one more chocolate from the bowl. “They were raw.”

 

“Raw potatoes? You handed out raw potatoes?”

 

Illya snorted. “Well, I could hardly hand out mashed potatoes. That would have been a bit messy,” he said sarcastically.

 

Napoleon just stared for a few minutes, watching the candy in the bowl disappear. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Ah, Illya.”

 

Illya quirked a questioning eyebrow as he searched for another candy like the one he’d just eaten. It was particularly good.

 

Napoleon reached out and grasped Illya’s wrist, holding it just out of reach of the goodies. “Why were you handing out potatoes when you have all this candy here?”

 

Illya looked as though he’d been struck. “Children don’t need all this candy, Napoleon. It’s bad for them. Potatoes are a healthy food. I would have killed for a potato when I was their age. I almost did once or twice.”

 

Napoleon perked up. Illya seldom mentioned his childhood and Napoleon always listened carefully whenever the subject did happen to come up. He was about to prompt his Russian partner for more information when he realized Illya was once again trying to divert his, Napoleon’s, attention from the matter at hand. “Uh-huh, my friend. That’s not the way it works, and you know it. But, just in case you, the man with the IQ bordering on genius, didn’t understand what I told you last year, I’ll explain this to you one more time.”

 

He led Illya back to the sofa and pushed him to sit. Then Napoleon walked around the table and sat down after moving his stinger out of the way.

 

Illya gave him a peculiar look watching the maneuver. “Napoleon. Why exactly … are you dressed like a bumblebee tonight?”

 

“I’m a honeybee,” Napoleon stated with certainty. “Now about the potatoes….”

 

“No. You are a bumblebee,” Illya corrected him ignoring the potatoes entirely. He pointed at several parts of the costume explaining that the coloring and fur made him most definitely a bumblebee.

 

Napoleon shook his head and sighed. “It doesn’t matter Illya. Whatever you say is fine. Now lets get back to the bit with the potatoes. You don’t give them out as treats on Halloween.” He pointed to the bowl of chocolate bars. “They make that stuff to give to the kids. You obviously found the stores that sell it.”

 

“I asked the clerk what you give the callers on Halloween and he said whatever you want to. Potatoes are very nutritious.”

 

A long deep breath escaped Napoleon as he thought this over. “Okay Illya. Forget about the potatoes. What’s with the smelly stuff that smells like … like … rotting meat?”

 

Illya developed an innocent look. He reached into the candy bowl and took another chocolate to chew on. “Just some simple chemicals I mixed up in the lab. It’s harmless.”

 

“Harmless? It nearly got you pulverized by that man. Isn’t he the one I bought off to keep you alive last Halloween?”

 

“That wasn’t necessary Napoleon. I was handling it when you barged in unannounced,” he protested. “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Yes. I’ve seen the result of that in the medical section too many times,” he reminded his partner. “Just why did you mix up this … concoction?” Napoleon asked staring at the pistol.

 

“To give the children if they did not want the treats,” Illya replied as the chocolate melted in his mouth. It only served to deepen his accent more.

 

Napoleon let out a short breath and stared at him with a blank expression of disbelief. “You aren’t supposed to provide the tricks Illya.”

 

The blond cocked his head in confusion. “I am not? Then what is this Trick OR Treat thing mean?”

 

Napoleon shook his head. “It’s for the children. If they don’t get a treat they will pull a trick on you. Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as you can get things so wrong.”

 

“Perhaps you didn’t realize what you said last year then,” he responded as if it was in fact all Napoleon’s fault.

 

“Well don’t get it wrong next year,” he warned Illya. “I won’t be here to bail you out again. Now come on.” Napoleon stood up indicating Illya should get his coat.

 

“Where are we going?” he asked about to reach for another chocolate.

 

“Back to the party. You’re coming with me.”

 

Illya looked up and down Napoleon’s outfit. “I’m sorry Napoleon. I left my bee outfit at the cleaners.”

 

 

**# #**

**O**

**Another Year, More Candy**

 

 

“Illya, I need to speak with you,” Napoleon Solo, CEA of U.N.C.L.E. New York, summoned his partner.

 

Illya dutifully put down the report he read, folded his hands atop the paperwork on his desk, and turned his attention to his superior. A raised eyebrow lent an air of insolence to his obedience.

 

Napoleon cleared his throat as though unsure of what to say. This was a new occurrence. “Ah, as you know, Halloween is tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure there were no more problems at your place like there has been for the last two years.”

 

Illya scowled. “There were no problems I couldn’t handle.”

 

Napoleon snorted. “Of course. Still, I think you should come with me to Allison’s party.”

 

Illya shook his head vehemently. “No, I have absolutely no interest in attending the party of one of your paramours. Last time I did that, I spent the evening watching a group of harpies fighting over you. I couldn’t eat for a week after witnessing such a nauseating display.”

 

Napoleon appeared skeptical. “That’s not true.”

 

“Oh, yes, it is. You were blissfully unaware because they were all sweetness and nice to you, but when your back was turned, the claws came out and blood was spilled. Believe me, my friend, it was more frightening a display as any I’ve seen from THRUSH, or even from KGB.” Illya shook his head again. “No, I’m going to stay home and give out treats again this year.”

 

A look of alarm crossed Napoleon’s handsome face. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because you bungled it two years in a row. I would think you’d just cut your losses and plan on not being home that night. At least go to a club until the kiddies have gone to bed.”

 

“No, Napoleon. As silly as I may think this holiday is, it is a part of the American culture and I will participate in it.” Illya held up a finger to stop his partner from suggesting he participate by going to the party. “In the time honored tradition of giving tricks out to the young hoodlums.” He reached out with his hand and pinched Napoleon’s mouth shut.

 

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he brushed the offending hand aside. “What are you giving them this year? Beets? Or are you going to go crazy and pour borscht into their bags?”

 

Illya glowered at him. “Neither. I plan to give them so much candy it will make them sick enough to stay indoors for several days. I will welcome the reprieve from their presence.”

 

“Well, that sounds safe enough,” Napoleon replied dubiously.

 

“I even plan on dressing in costume for the occasion.” Illya’s half-smile played across his lips. “Although I will dress as something a little less flamboyant than a bumble bee.”

 

Although Napoleon didn’t look entirely convinced, he acquiesced. “Just know I WILL be checking up on you. This year, I would appreciate not stepping into World War III at your doorstep.”

 

“Yes, Mother,” Illya intoned as he turned his attention back to his paperwork.

 

**# #**

**O**

Against Napoleon’s better judgment he left Illya to his own devices. It was difficult to trust him after the last two years and for a man of Illya’s genius, some things seemed to come slowly to him. All Napoleon could do was hope he’d gotten everything through to him.

 

Halloween night came and Napoleon dressed as prince charming this year. He filled out the leotards quite well in his opinion, definitely nothing to be ashamed of. It was a little difficult to drive with the plume sticking out of his hat though. He took it off and set it on the seat next to him.

 

This year the party was held in the ballroom of the Ambassador hotel. Allison was given a dozen tickets from Mr. Waverly for staff members to attend the charity event. Napoleon Solo, Mark Slate, April Dancer were there with several others due to arrive later. Of course Allison attended as a princess to grace Napoleon’s arm. She quickly found him as he entered the room and greeted him with a drink in hand.

 

“My prince has finally come,” she remarked with a smirk.

 

“Your ladyship.” He bowed deeply removing his hat with flair. “Thank you for asking me to your ball.” The night was early but he expected good things to happen later on. If only he could keep his mind off worrying about Illya.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

Illya obtained a number of things from the UNCLE storerooms where any number of disguises could be manufactured. He was quite an expert at it by now. He’d have to get busy if he were to be ready at his place by the time the little beggars came around.

 

An hour later, a Mongolian warlord waddled through the halls of U.N.C.L.E. Most people he passed gave him a wondering look, but once they saw the badge, they moved on without comment. The ones who knew the Number 2 badge belonged to Illya Kuryakin smiled and nodded, sometimes saying, “Great costume. You’ll win the costume contest at April’s party for sure!”

 

Costume contest? They had contests for such things? He probably would win if he were going to the party. But no. He had to dole out candy for the neighborhood children. The holiday had been a disaster for two years in a row and Illya was determined to get the whole trick or treat thing right this year.

 

To that end, he’d dressed up in disguise and was now ready set out to do a little research. He took the train to a group of brownstones located two neighborhoods over from his own apartment and knocked on the first door. He waited, pillowcase in hand. “Trick or treat!” he announced in a Mongolian accent when the door opened.

 

The woman who’d answered stared at him. “You’re a little early.” She looked him up and down. “Not to mention a little too old.”

 

Illya bowed respectfully. “My apologies, madam,” he intoned, his Mongolian accent thick. “My nephew is in hospital today and he ask me prease to gather candy for him. I was hoping, prease, to also gather some for other children in ward.”

 

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with him?”

 

Illya shook his bald Mongolian head. “Fatal disease of the blood. Even Chinese doctor cannot cure.”

 

The woman’s wary countenance changed to dismay. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Of course I’ll give the little darlings some candy! Wait just a minute.” She walked into the dark recesses of her home, returning several seconds later with an unopened bag of chocolate candies. She dropped the entire thing into Illya’s pillowcase. “This should get them started.”

 

Illya bowed again. “Thank you, dear lady.”

 

“You’re very welcome and I hope your nephew gets well soon.” She wiped a tear from her eye and closed the door.

 

Illya looked delightedly into his pillowcase. One entire bag of candy! If everyone was this generous, he could go home within half an hour. He happily went to the next door in the line. Twenty minutes later his pillowcase bulged with an abundance of assorted candy, cookies, and popcorn balls. He decided on one more stop, and then he would head home to wait for the costumed kids to knock on his door. He had plenty of goodies and, besides, he was running out of hard luck stories to tell people.

 

He tapped on the next door and waited. When the door opened, he found himself face to face with his worst nightmare. Maureen Horowitz, an U.N.C.L.E. Records clerk and the bane of his existence, loomed in the doorway wearing a pink dress with more ruffles than a bag of potato chips, yards of pink ribbon and far too much makeup. Her large feet were stuffed into a pair of glass slippers. The getup made her look like demon spawn from Hell.   Illya suppressed his surprise, as well as a shiver of revulsion and bowed. “Good day, madam.” An appropriate thing to call her. She looked like the madam of a house of ill repute.

 

“What do you want?” she asked rudely.

 

He bowed again. “My apologies for bothering, but I am trick or treating for the orphans of the Asian orphanage for which I work. I am here, prease, to thank you for your generous donation of candy to give to the pitiful children.”

 

She scowled, her pink lipstick caked lips cracking. “Why should I give them candy? I’m sure the orphanage gets a nice chunk of tax money, which comes out of my taxes. Use some of that to buy the little chinks candy yourself.”

 

Illya wasn’t surprised at her attitude. For someone who worked for an agency like U.N.C.L.E., she was surprisingly bigoted. Of course, she didn’t say it to her coworkers, but Illya had noticed how she subtly snubbed non-Americans.   Very few people picked up on it. He did. He thought Napoleon did, too, because he disliked Horowitz almost as much as Illya did. He bowed yet one more time. “Am sorry, prease, but I am just a teacher there. I do not have control over purse strings. Director of orphanage is very stingy. He will not buy such things as candy for children. I feel sorry for them, but am not paid well. I hoped to do trick or treat to gather treats for them and also to tell them what doing this is like. They never get to go outside of orphanage.”

 

She snorted in derision and clutched the door to close it. Illya looked up at her, awe on his face. “I can tell you generous woman. I am sure you impress many people with your generosity.”

 

The swing of the door suddenly stopped as her arm stiffened. “Impress?”

 

Illya bowed in acknowledgement. “Indeed. I am sure you have many boyfriend as generous as you. Like attracts like. Confucius say if you have generous friends, you must have generous heart.” Confucius say no such thing, but Illya knew Maureen wouldn’t know that.

 

“Yes, the man I’m attracted to is very generous,” she mused more to herself than to her visitor. Her attention snapped back to the Mongolian man standing at her door. She smiled broadly at him. A truly hideous sight, in Illya’s opinion. Her hand disappeared behind the wall beside the door, then reappeared with a handful of Jolly Ranchers, which she dropped in his bag. It delved behind the wall again and this time came back with a wallet. “Just to show you how generous I am, I’m going to give you some money, too, to help the little brats…er, children.” She held a five-dollar bill aloft. “I would like a receipt for this money. Someone might want me to prove my generosity.”

 

“Oh, yes, prease, thank you, madam!” Illya gushed with a series of bows. “You have quill and paper?”

 

She rolled her eyes as she reached over once again. This time the hand brought back a pen and paper. Illya scribbled a receipt and handed it back to her, reaching for the five.

 

She snatched it out of his grasp. “Say something to me in Chinese, first.”

 

Illya thought about it, then bowed. “You are a big, fat cow and you smell like a goat,” he intoned in Mandarin.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means, ‘May the Bluebird of Happiness bless your life.’”

 

“Oh! Thank you!” She smiled that hideous smile again and handed him the five before slamming the door in his face.

 

Illya’s eyes blinked rapidly, trying to get the horrible vision of pink to fade. Hopefully, the morbid sight wasn’t permanently burned into his retinas. If he hadn’t been ready to quit this silly trick or treat business before, he certainly was now. He walked the way home, lugging his heavy bag of goodies with him.

 

 

**# #**

**O**

Napoleon smiled and tried to relax with Allison on one arm and a cocktail in the opposite hand. The music was pleasant and he was surrounded by several good friends but for some reason he just couldn’t get Illya and his antics out of his head. Turning to Allison he handed his glass to her. “Would you mind watching over this for me for a minute. I’m going to try calling Illya again.”

 

She politely took the glass and nodded although she did say, “Why don’t you forget about him. If he’s coming to the party he’ll show up sooner or later.”

 

April glanced at Mark. Both of them knew Illya wasn’t the party type from the Christmas dinner at UNCLE. Napoleon headed over to the payphone regardless of the others’ skepticisms.

 

April sipped her soda with lemon and swallowed quickly as she spied Maureen Horowitz making her entrance. “Oh my lord. What is she supposed to be? The tooth fairy?”

 

A smile broke out over Mark’s face. He’d never seen so much pink before. “Maybe a bottle of pepto bismol,” he chuckled.

 

Allison slapped at Mark’s arm in irritation. “She’s Cinderella and she’s been working on her costume for weeks. Be nice.”

 

“Wicked witch of the West is more like it,” Mark muttered over his drink. April slapped him lightly, but the snicker that escaped her showed her real thoughts on the comment.

 

Maureen flowed over to the group like rapids over boulders billowing pink frills all the way. “Hi. Where’s Napoleon?” she asked eager to show off to the handsome CEA.

 

“Great costume Maureen,” Allison said in as sincere a tone as she could manage.

 

“He went to make a call,” Mark said smirking and trying not to laugh out loud.

 

April set down her soda and grabbed Mark’s arm. “I think you promised me this dance.”

 

“But…” he muttered as she dragged him away. “There’s no music playing.”

 

“Then hum,” she hissed at him as they vanished into the crowd.

 

 

**# #**

**O**

Napoleon let the phone ring at least twelve times as he muttered into the receiver. “Come on Illya. Pick up the phone.” He had images of the Russian lying at his front door with two black eyes and stars circling his head after another run in with the ruffian that lived below him. A worse vision took over. That of the ruffian lying on the floor, dead at Illya’s feet. Something had to be wrong. He had a gut feeling about it and just couldn’t stay here and enjoy himself if he wasn’t sure Illya was all right.

 

He hung up the phone and glanced out into the ballroom. April and Mark were doing a tour of the dance floor and Allison seemed to be occupied with a giant ball of pink candyfloss. With an audible sigh he decided to follow his instincts and head over to Illya’s place. If he was all right Napoleon just might knock his lights out for putting him through the worry needlessly and if not he’d call him an ambulance. Either way once the little guy came around he was coming back to the party where Napoleon could keep an eye on him whether he liked it or not.

 

In his dashing cape and tights, Napoleon headed out to the valet parking and gave him his parking ticket. When his car arrived he removed the plumed hat and set it on the passenger seat and sped off to Illya’s apartment.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

 

Illya the Mongolian warlord sat in his dingy apartment reading a book of poetry, listening to Bach, and eating some of the goodies he’d procured. He had plenty, after all. Several overflowing bowls. He especially liked the popcorn balls.

 

He’d been home for half an hour and no one as yet had knocked on his door. Not that he minded. He had no problem with the idea that he would have to eat all of this or of the fact that he would be left alone for the evening. He decided to stay in costume for awhile just in case, though.

 

A knock sounded on his door. It sounded a bit authoritative, not like a child’s at all. Not Napoleon’s, either. He took his gun with him to the door and peered out. The nightmare child of Halloween past stood staring at him defiantly. His hulk of a father stood behind him, eyes narrowed as though expecting problems. The huge man cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

 

Illya smiled to himself. This could be amusing. He pushed the weapon into the pocket of his flowing jacket and opened the door. “Herro,” he said, bowing to the two. “May I help you, prease?”

 

Two sets of eyes opened wide in shock. “Who-who are you?” the boy asked.

 

Illya bowed again. “Hirotu Yamaguchi,” he intoned with another bow. “Very preased to meet you.”

 

“What happened to the pipsqueak that used to live here?” big, smelly dad asked. “Short, scrawny, blond,” he described.

 

Illya pulled himself up to his full height. He wasn’t scrawny. Of course, he did tend to cultivate that impression so his enemies would underestimate him. “I do not know. I just move here two weeks ago.”

 

“Oh, really? So what do you give out for Trick or Treating? Eggrolls?”

 

Illya pasted a puzzled look on his face. “It is my understanding, prease,” he said in halting Engrish, “that one gives the young ones candy for this holiday.”

 

The big man relaxed visibly. “Yeah, that’s right. So you gonna give my kid some or what?”

 

Illya bowed again. “Yes. Of course.” He turned and grabbed a cookie and a candy bar from the bowl by the door and dropped it in the pillowcase held in the boy’s lose grip.

 

The child’s mouth had hung open the entire time, obviously still in shock. “You kinda look like the guy that used to live here,” the boy finally said.

 

Illya kept his own surprise to himself. Observant. He should inform UNCLE to keep an eye on this boy. He might prove to be a possible agent in the future. If UNCLE didn’t snatch him, THRUSH probably would. That would be a shame. He recovered quickly and laughed lightly as he rubbed his baldhead. “When I have hair, it became black, not blond.”

 

The man laughed, too. “Sure, right, we know. Let’s go Everett.”

 

Everett? The boy struck Illya more as a Gus. As the two turned to leave, Illya heard a familiar step on the stairs. Ah. Napoleon coming to check up on him. Again. With a sigh, Illya waited for his partner to arrive.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

Napoleon hurried up the steps as he heard a gruff voice coming from Illya’s floor. Oh, no! Not again!   Then he heard the man laugh and the boy murmur something that sounded like a thank you. What was going on? Had Illya finally decided to do Halloween right?

 

Napoleon knew Illya wasn’t as ignorant of the holiday as he had let on for the last two years. Illya always researched wherever they went on assignment in order to learn of local customs and taboos. The idea the Russian had come to live in the United States with no working knowledge of Halloween was absurd. The first year, Napoleon didn’t know his partner well enough to realize this. The second year he didn’t think of it, still buying into Illya’s “I’m a poor, dumb immigrant” routine. After three years of practically living in each other’s pockets, Napoleon knew without a shadow of a doubt, Illya had scammed him, not to mention the poor children who knocked on his door, into believing he simply didn’t understand the holiday.

 

Napoleon now knew better and had no intention of letting Illya pull the same type of stunts he’d done for the last two years. No, he did not plan on letting Illya stay home and perpetuate whatever mayhem on the poor, innocent children the devious Russian had in mind for them this year. Even if he had somewhat managed to appease the huge, smelly man and his son.

 

Said duo met him on the stairs, going down as he went up. The large man scowled at him in recognition. “I’m glad your friend moved. This guy is much nicer.”

 

Napoleon blinked and watched them pound down the stairs. Moved? Illya? Had the Russian moved without informing his partner? Confused, Napoleon thundered the rest of the way up, skidding to a halt on the landing of his partner’s floor. Standing in the doorway of Illya’s apartment was a short, fat, balding Asian man. The Asian seemed to enjoy Napoleon’s shocked reaction.

 

Napoleon pursed his lips in irritation. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Handing out candy, Napoleon.”

 

The light Russian accent coming out of an Oriental man’s mouth was disconcerting. Napoleon shook off his surprise. “Not vegetables?”

 

Illya snickered. “Not this year. Come on in.” He turned and disappeared into his apartment.  

 

Napoleon walked into his partner’s now familiar home and closed the door. He turned and stopped in stunned silence once more. Bowls stuffed with candies of all kinds, popcorn balls, cookies, apples, and god knew what else were scattered around the apartment. Illya sat on the couch munching on a sticky wad of popcorn. “Where did you get all this?” He waved a hand around the room, encompassing all the filled bowls.

 

“I went out for it after I left work this afternoon,” Illya replied. He held up a gooey white mass. “Have you ever had a popcorn ball? They’re good.”

 

Napoleon absently nodded his head as he started rummaging through a bowl. “I hate them, myself.” He took a popcorn ball out of the dish and examined its plastic wrapping. He did the same with a package of cookies. “Illya, these are homemade!” he exclaimed.

 

Illya nodded. “Most of the cookies and popcorn balls are. The candy is store bought.” He plucked a chocolate sucker from the bowl beside him. “Except these chocolate bats. I think they are homemade, as well.”

 

Napoleon’s face contorted in dawning horror. “Illya, where, exactly, did you get all this?”

 

Illya nibbled on the chocolate bat. “I told you. I went out after work for it.”

 

“Out as in to the store or trick or treating?”

 

Illya grinned slyly. “I was able to get all this without spending a cent.”

 

Napoleon glanced through some of the takings. “Illya. This stuff was meant for other children. Not you and your skinflint habits. What you’ve done is deprived other children of their treats to … to munch on and give out yourself. I’m almost ashamed of you.”

 

Illya let out a ~bah~ much like Scrooge and turned around to go help himself to another popcorn ball. “I’ve saved them a stomach ache.” He took a bite and chewed it. “I on the other hand have a stomach of iron.”

 

Napoleon took away the candy and put it on the table. “Eat all that and it will warp. You’ll never fit into your pants again.”

 

“Speaking of pants,” he replied looking up and down Napoleon’s costume. “Where are yours?”

 

Quickly pulling his overcoat closed across his chest, Napoleon sighed. “Prince Charming wears tights,” he declared in a tone that said Illya shouldn’t question it any further. “Come on. I came to see you had a good time tonight. I don’t know why but Allison saved a ticket for you so you’re coming back to the party with me. No buts or Waverly will hear how you’re shirking your duty to integrate into American culture.”

 

“There’s nothing in my job that says I have to adopt American ways.”

 

Illya was right of course but Napoleon wasn’t about to let him sidetrack him any more. When the next knock at Illya’s door came Napoleon opened it. There stood a little girl of about five in a Snow White dress with her brother of three dressed as a dwarf.

 

“Twick or tweet,” she announced and held out a paper bag. The little boy stood there stunned with his bag dragging alongside him.

 

Napoleon smiled. “My aren’t you a pretty little princess. I’ll bet your mommy and daddy are very proud of you.” He stepped back and dragged Illya over to the door shoving him into a stooped position so as not to frighten the youngsters. Then he took all the candy Illya collected and dumped it into the two bags much to the surprise of the Granny taking them around the neighborhood. “We have to go out now so the rest is yours,” he said and bowed slightly as he dragged Illya by the loose fitting folds of material making up the warlord’s costume.

 

“Napoleon. That was my candy,” Illya protested.

 

“No. That was the kids candy that you misappropriated. I’ve just returned it to its rightful place.” He settled Illya into the car and got in the driver’s seat. “Now as CEA I’m giving you an order.” He put the car into gear and pulled out into the street. “You are going to the party and you are going to enjoy yourself. You will put on a good face…” and then he looked at the makeup his partner wore before shaking his head as if to clear it. “And you are going to make UNCLE look like a nice civic minded organization. Is that clear?”

 

Illya crossed his arms and under the makeup his face changed to pout. No one could tell though.

 

**# #**

**O**

 

Maureen rejoined the others. “Mark. Maybe you should check the men’s room. I can’t find Napoleon anywhere,” she told them anxiously.

 

“He can’t have gone far. Napoleon wouldn’t leave without letting us know,” April said sure of herself. “I’m sure he’ll be back anytime.”

 

Maureen glanced around worriedly, but then spotted her prey. “There he is!” she announced to half the room. She started to wave, and then saw the short, balding Asian he had in tow. “Oh, no! Why is he bringing that Chinese orphanage teacher with him?” At the same time she thought to herself that this could actually be a good thing. It would be the perfect way to show off to Napoleon what a good philanthropist she was.

 

She took a deep breath and hurried to the two men. “Oh, Napoleon,” she gasped, clutching him by the arm. “There you are. And you brought the nice man from the orphanage. Hello again,” she gushed at Illya. “I hope you collected lots more goodies after you left my house. I’ll bet no one else gave you money, though.”

 

Napoleon turned a gimlet eye on Illya. “Money? You accepted money?” If Illya had the grace to be embarrassed, Napoleon wouldn’t have been able to tell underneath all the makeup.

 

Illya shrugged. “Why not? I didn’t ask for it. She just gave it to me.”

 

Maureen’s eyes widened in horror. “I know that voice! Kuryakin?” she screeched. “Is that you in there?”

 

The sound of the party stopped at the furious screaming. All eyes turned toward the disturbance. Maureen reached out and ripped off the Asian’s bald head. Blond hair tumbled out from underneath the skullcap. “It is you! You bastard!”

 

For the third Halloween in a row, Napoleon found himself rescuing his partner from an irate victim of Illya’s wicked, although sometimes odd, sense of humor. He pulled Maureen off the Russian before she could do some real damage with the claws she extended towards Illya’s vivid blue eyes. “Calm down, Maureen,” he growled, voice muffled by the wads of pink fluff that made up the majority of Maureen’s dress. “He’ll give you your money back.” He shot a dirty look at his partner, and usually but not now, friend.   “Won’t you, Illya?” Napoleon felt Maureen calm slightly. He pulled away, relatively sure she wouldn’t try to kill Illya. At least, not with all these witnesses.

 

The entire party watched the Asian looking Russian, waiting for his answer.

 

“No.”

 

The room was silent. Dead silent. No movement at all. At least until Maureen screeched like a banshee and launched herself at Illya again.

 

Napoleon caught her in mid flight and yanked her back. “Give it back to her, Illya! That’s an order!” He seldom pulled rank with his partner, but sometimes Illya’s stubbornness made it necessary. Illya’s jaw set in that way Napoleon totally despised. It meant Illya wasn’t about to follow his orders.

 

“I don’t have it,” the Russian intoned. “I gave it to a woman who didn’t have enough money to buy her baby milk.” It was just a block down from Maureen’s place and he’d given a large helping of the candy to the little child hanging on her apron strings too. He lifted his chin. “Would you or Miss Horowitz like for me to go get it back? I’m sure I can squeeze it out of her.”

 

Maureen stopped struggling, but Napoleon could still feel her anger radiating through the clouds of pink.

 

“You little twerp,” Horowitz snarled. “You can just give it back to me out of your own pocket!”

 

Illya raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you don’t wish to appear charitable anymore?”

 

“What? Of course, I . . . but . . . you . . .” she sputtered. She yanked herself out of Napoleon’s arms. “Never mind!” She spun and stalked away, bits of pink fluttering behind her. Suddenly she stopped and turned around, a stricken expression on her face.

 

Illya smiled slightly, feeling like he knew what thoughts spun through her shriveled little mind. Napoleon Solo had finally had his arms around her. Instead of taking advantage of the situation, she’d let her anger at Illya overtake her and she’d actually rejected Napoleon’s touch. How awkward. Maureen’s expression clouded and darkened, pure hatred shooting out of her eyes, aimed right at his heart.

 

Illya shrugged at her, a gesture of, ~Tough luck~. Dismissing her, he turned towards the tables loaded with goodies. His eyes lit with delight. “Popcorn balls!” he proclaimed and made a beeline for them. Later he would have to find the linen closet and liberate a pillowcase or two. He needed to replace all the snacks Napoleon had thoughtlessly given away to those urchins at his door earlier.

 

He brightened suddenly pleased Napoleon had done so. As Napoleon had patiently explained for the last two years, Trick or Treat was a time-honored American tradition.

Since Napoleon had deprived Illya of his treats, Illya could now perpetuate some sort of trick on his suave American partner. Illya took a large bite of a popcorn ball. This might not be such a bad holiday, after all.

 

April raised her glass to Napoleon. “Happy Halloween Napoleon. You sure do liven up the holidays.”

 

**Happy Halloween Everyone.**


End file.
